Tears
by FrecklesAndSwords
Summary: Prompt: Tears When something like this happened to a man, he deserved the right to break down and cry.


He'd always told her two was perfect. Two was the magic number, that made a family complete. She had agreed, for the most part. Two was easy enough. One would just be lonely all the time, and any more than two was far too many to handle—especially when one of their parents was always out of the house at a time.

He had to admit, the two of them might not have _seemed_ like they would be great parents, but they were. They made time for their children, made time for each other, made time for their jobs. They had a nice home on their own secluded little island close to Skyloft… They actually turned out to have a fairly perfect life.

With two children. Two beautiful, perfect children. Children who had just as much spunk, and just as much integrity as their parents. Then one day, when Pipit came home from his shift in the early morning, he was met with news he hadn't really expected. Suddenly his opinion changed. Suddenly _three_ seemed to be a far more magic number. He held her tight and kissed her head, and decided right then that here was nothing in the world better than his family.

He even cried a little. A small sliver of a tear. It was a joyful tear. Followed immediately by more kisses to her forehead before she shoved him off of her and called him a pansy. He had no problem with that.

Three children. That was going to be their life now. Who would this one become? Would it behave like the other two? Be an individual? He found himself daydreaming about the new baby that would be entering their lives in eight months. His daydreams often were shared out loud with his wife, who admittedly had a few dreams of her own.

Then one day he came home from his shift to find the front door open just slightly. He found that to be awkward, because they were always careful to keep the door shut so as not to let the children out. He walked into the home and was met with the sight of broken glass. That sent a feeling of dread up his spine.

He drew his sword while he walked further into the eerily silent home, and when his family was nowhere to be found he began to panic. Up the stairs in a flash he nearly tripped over the body of what he had to assume was a thief. He stared at him, expertly sliced through the throat, and knew the clean work anywhere. Karane had done that. She had cut him down. That didn't worry him.

What worried him was the many other cuts on him. It meant she'd had to put up a hard fight. He stepped over the body and turned down the corner, and he found Karane sitting on the floor in front of the door to their bedroom. By all appearances she was fine… he dropped the sword and ran to her side.

When he pulled her into his arms she explained something about the man invading the house. The lady knight rushed their children into the bedroom, slammed the door so they couldn't possibly be hurt, and then picked up her weapon to fight.

It wasn't until she shifted that he noticed a small puddle of blood beneath her. He immediately began to check her over, trying to explain the blood. She tilted her head onto his collar and shook her head. He personally flew out to get help.

When the doctor left the house it was with a frown on his face. Pipit slipped back into the room with his wife and admired the damage to her. Her midriff was black with the bruise. Wrapped tightly around a broken rib. But not a cut on her. The blood hadn't come from her stomach.

With no one in the home but their sleeping children, Pipit didn't know why he felt so inclined to act brave. But he kissed her lips, her chin, her neck, her shoulder. Anything to make her feel comfort. After a long silence between them, he pulled the blankets up over her and whispered "I'm going to get you some water".

It wasn't until the moment he stepped into the hallway that his bravery faded, and his eyes welled with tears. Tears for everything. The fear of coming home to find it had been attacked. The distress he felt when he found his wife on the floor. The nerves that their children had been hurt.

And more than anything tears to mourn their loss. He pounded the wall in frustration once before he rubbed the tears from his eyes furiously. He couldn't cry right now. He had to be strong.

At that moment his opinion once more changed, unfortunately. Two was the perfect number. A happy number. Any less and the child would just be lonely. Any more and it would be too many to deal with.


End file.
